Perfect
by Elphie Marky
Summary: Collins and I? Perfect? We're far from perfect. CollinsAngel [Angel's POV]


Disclaimer: I don't own Rent.

The thing I love most about my relationship with Mimi is our conversations. No matter what the subject, no matter how personal or girly, no matter what the problem, we always can talk to each other about it. Be it relationship problems with Roger, Mimi's hatred of her boss, or my minor fetish with leopard print skirts, we're okay to discuss them openly. And I really don't think I'd have it any other way.

"Angel," her soft voice pulls me out of musings.

"Yes, Mimi-chica?" I look over at her. She's been spending more and more time over here. Apparently, Roger's songwriting muse is at full force and he needs his space to write his one great song. Mimi doesn't want to be a horribly annoying distraction to him, so she comes here to keep me company. I don't mind; Collins is always teaching or tutoring someone so it's nice to have someone to talk to.

She shifts a little from her position on the sofa and looks up at me as I continue to fold the laundry. "I wish I had what you had."

Honestly, I'm a little distracted at the moment. I sniffle a little. "Oh believe me, honey, you don't want what I have. This cold is awful." I dab my nose with a tissue for emphasis.

She giggles. "Not that, silly. I want what you have with Collins."

I let the shirt in my hands drop to my lap and look at her. "Things with Roger okay, sweetie?"

She sits up, drawing her legs close to her. "We're okay, I guess. But we fight a lot and it's usually about stupid stuff. He's on me about my heroin addiction-"

"I won't argue him on that one," I interrupt her. I love her, I do, but the girl's made a few bad choices in her life. She's got a lot to live for, a lot to learn. I don't want her time cut shorter than it already is.

"I'm trying, Ang, I'm trying!" she defends herself. "I've been clean for three weeks now."

"Good for you," I reply with a smile. I know she tries and I'm proud of her for that. "Continue."

"I'm always afraid he's going to leave me because of these stupid fights," she goes on. "I'm afraid he's never going to love me the way I love him."

"Did you tell him that you love him?" I ask.

She shakes her head. "I'm scared. That's why I want what you have. You're not afraid to say I love you."

It was true. I've always considered myself fearless when it came to love. If I knew it was right, if I had that feeling, I wasn't one to keep quiet about it and neither was Collins. Collins had his own special way of doing things. Whether it was late at night when he purred an 'I love you, Angel' into my ear, or his random professions throughout the day, he was fearless. His random professions happen to be my favorite though.

"_Ang, baby, c'mere," he calls.._

"_Yes, dear?" I enter the room where he is._

"_Wanna know a secret?"_

"_Sure," I reply. "I promise I'll keep it this time."_

_He grins. "Nah, you can tell people this one."_

"_Tell meeee!"_

"_I love you."_

"_That's not a secret." I place my hands on my hips and pout._

_He starts laughing. "Well, it's true."_

_I smile too. "I love you too."_

"If you know you love him, tell him," I say at last. "Maybe that's what he needs to hear. He needs to know he's loved, Mimi."

"I know," she replies. "I just wish it wasn't so hard. I wish it was the perfect love I dreamed of when I was little. I wish it was like how you and Collins are. You two are perfect."

Perfect? Collins and I? We were far from perfect. That was a pretty common misconception about the two of us, our perfections and undying love. True, we were in love, but we were most definitely not perfect. "You've got a lot to learn about love, sweetie."

She smiles. I love it when she smiles, showing all her pretty white teeth. "Angel…" her tone changes and her face twists in confusion.

"Yes, doll?"

"That's like the fifth leopard print skirt I've seen you fold in this load of wash alone," she says, a smile creeping onto her face.

I look from the skirt in my hands, to the pile in the wash basket, to her face, and back to the skirt. She's right. Maybe it wasn't such a minor fetish. "Don't judge," I tell her.

She chuckles. "I wasn't. I was just thinking about how I wish we were the same size so I could borrow one."

"Well," I begin, "it does appear that I have an extra. I can always bring it in a little to fit you."

She squeals in delight. "You're the best, Ang."

Perfect. I was thinking about it again that night when Collins came home. I even looked up the definition of perfect. Being without defect or blemish. To me it seems that petty arguments and occasional shouting matches fall under the category of defect or blemish when it comes to relationships.

Take last week for instance. Collins had been away all week up at NYU for some stupid teaching conference. When he explained what it was for, I just smiled and nodded. I really had no idea what he was talking about, but the way he got so excited over it and how his face looked while he was talking was too adorable to ignore. I love watching him smile.

He got home late Monday night and I could tell he was tired. But I was tired too and didn't really feel like vacuuming the living room.

"_Col, could you run the vacuum really quick?" I ask from upstairs._

"_I just walked in, baby. Can't it wait until tomorrow?"_

"_But dustbunnies are gross," I reply. I walk down the steps in my favorite nightgown. "Please?"_

"_Angel, I'm tired," he replies. "I'll vacuum when I wake up."_

_I roll my eyes. "Jeez, Collins. I've been alone all weekend and I ask you to do one little thing for me after I've cleaned the entire apartment by myself…"_

"_Angel," he tries to cut me off._

"_Nevermind, forget I asked." I huff down the steps and run the vacuum myself._

_He just rubs his temples and goes upstairs when the hum of our old Oreck starts._

I've never been good at math or analogies or whatever, but I do know that petty arguments are not equal to perfection. That was a pretty stupid thing to pick a fight over. I knew he was tired, and it really could have waited until morning… No one seems to know that we have arguments. True, we aren't as vocal about them as Roger and Mimi and Maureen and Joanne, but we're just like any other couple in love. Everyone always sees the fluffy kisses and sweet smiles that come long after we apologize. Apologize. Come to think of it, I don't think I ever told him I was sorry for picking a fight.

I put down the leopard print skirt I was adjusting for Mimi and head upstairs. "Col?" I knock softly on the door and enter our bedroom. He's lying on our bed, probably grading papers. I sit next to him on the bed and ask, "You got a minute?"

He puts down the pen and moves the papers aside. "I always have a minute for you."

I smile and he smiles too. "I just wanted to say sorry for getting on your back last week."

"Huh?" His face crinkles in confusion.

I explain the fight to him and tell him I shouldn't have gotten on his back about it so quickly. He laughs and accepts the apology, saying that he doesn't even remember the quarrel.

I take the pen and papers and place them on our bedside table. "Feel like procrastinating?" I smile evilly.

He grins a mile wide, his electric smile lighting up the room and answering my question.

Collins fell asleep a little bit ago. I'm cuddling close to him, pretending to be beside him in Dream Land. But I'm not. I pretending to be asleep, still thinking about that word. Perfect. This it what they'll see. The wonderful aftermath of a fight that's been long since forgotten full of love and kisses. They see perfect. But it's not perfect. At all. And I don't want it to be perfect either. Perfection is overrated.

-fin


End file.
